


someone to you

by moogle62



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moogle62/pseuds/moogle62
Summary: Tommy's got a house full of rented furniture and a dog that chews anything that lets her. He gave away half his possessions before he moved and he feels lighter for it, cleaned out.There’s space, here, for him to thinkmaybe.





	someone to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laliandra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laliandra/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, laliandra! <3 <3 <3

Lovett goes on a string of bad dates in late May. He sends a bunch of increasingly frustrated whatsapp messages, and won’t stop talking about the inanity of the LA gay scene. 

“Like, who orders fucking kelp noodles when they’re trying to get laid?” Lovett says, on their way back from the office, Lucca crashed out on his lap. It’s out of Tommy’s way to drop Lovett off, but at this point in their friendship, a route diversion feels like the tip of the iceberg of things Tommy would do for him. “It’s just _asking_ to get crap stuck in your teeth. I know I’m not, you know, whatever, but like - kelp noodles are fucking great, but do I order them on a first whatever? I do not. When did it get so wrong to at least try and avoid having the dental work of a bad-mannered sea troll if you’re trying to get some? Where’s the _effort_?”

“Uh huh,” says Tommy. Lovett has complained about the amount of work it takes to hook up these days more times than Tommy can count so Tommy’s not going to let this one slide. Sometimes hypocrisy is Lovett’s way of asking to be called on something: it’s confrontational, maybe, but it works for him. “Sure. The kelp noodles are what you’re mad about.”

Lovett sinks down in his seat, not looking at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on, man,” Tommy says. They’re at a stoplight, the car waiting. “I lived with you. I know what you get like when -”

“When I get a shitty lay?” Lovett gives Tommy an assessing, slightly mean look over the top of his glasses, which Tommy refuses to look directly at. It comes with an edge to his voice that Tommy has never liked, the one he gets when he talks about his body, his dating life. The parts of him that not even Tommy and Favs get to talk about, not really. “Yeah, thanks, Tommy, really rub that on in there.” 

“I’m just saying,” Tommy says, mildly. “If you’re mad about something, be mad about that. You don’t need to -” _careful, Tommy_ “- like, not talk to me about it just because I’m - because you think I’m, whatever. Lonely.”

They’ve all been doing that, to some extent. Favs makes an apologetic face sometimes when he’s been talking about Emily, about how happy he is, but even though it can be grating, Tommy knows Favs is doing that out of kindness, his bottomless generosity. Lovett is doing it out of … Tommy doesn’t know. Out of something else. 

“Yeah, that’s it, I’m, like, sparing your feelings.” Lovett shifts Pundit on his lap, crosses his legs in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable with a seatbelt on. “Come on, Tommy, you know me better than that.”

They pull up to Lovett’s, listen to the sound of the engine cut out as Tommy turns the keys. In the backseat, Pundit perks up, paws at the window like she knows she’s home.

“Sorry that guy was a dick,” Tommy offers, into the silence. 

“Yeah, well,” Lovett says. “It happens.” 

He’s careful putting Lucca onto Tommy’s lap, tries not to jostle her or wake her up. She yawns as Lovett is sliding his hand out from under her, knuckles pushing against Tommy’s thigh, but doesn’t stir. Tommy looks at her tiny nose, her drooping sleepy paws. He watches Lovett remember not to slam the car door when he gets out. Lovett’s got Pundit in his arms; makes a motion like Tommy should roll the window down. Tommy rolls the window down.

“See you tomorrow, I guess,” Lovett says. “Uh, thanks for the ride?”

“Sure thing,” Tommy says. It’s pretty early still. He might go to the gym or something. Walk some more until he’s thinking clearer. “Tomorrow.”

//

Tommy’s halfway through the drive home when he has to pull over. Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s changed, but Tommy just needs to stop being in control of a moving vehicle for a minute.

Moving to LA has been - good, for Tommy. He’s traded bay views for the sure and certain knowledge that Lovett will let himself into Tommy’s house on a Sunday just to complain about having to walk so far, that Favs will join him for runs again and they’ll both pretend they’re not getting competitive about pacing. That they have an office, cluttered and messy and theirs. That even on nights when he can’t sleep, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling for hours on end, his people are nearby.

He’s got a house full of rented furniture and a dog that chews anything that lets her. He gave away half his possessions before he moved and he feels lighter for it, cleaned out.

There’s space, here, for him to think _maybe_. 

_Maybe_ , when Lovett is talking a mile a minute at his desk in the corner, gesticulating wildly enough that Tommy reaches over to move his Diet Coke can. _Maybe_ , on late nights with Emily and Favs, all of them bright-eyed and over-tired, Lovett tipped upside down at the far end of the couch. _Maybe_ , when Lovett catches his eye when they’re recording and smiles small at the corner of his mouth, just for Tommy. It sits under Tommy’s breastbone every day, that smile, held safe by his ribs. 

Lucca snuffles in her sleep and flops over, nudging at Tommy’s thigh with her nose. He pets her exposed belly, coos at her until she settles again. Her fur is so soft. He can feel her heart beating, just under his hand. She’s so small, eight weeks old with curious eyes and a tail that won’t stop wagging, and she crawls all over Lovett with an irrepressible energy, paws everywhere, squirming happily. Lovett’s so _good_ with her, laughs so brightly and lies back to make a safer surface for her, caging her in when she wriggles too enthusiastically and looks like she might fall.

Tommy’s head feels clear. He starts the car.

//

It can’t have been a half hour since Tommy dropped Lovett off, but Lovett looks rumpled, like he just woke up, when he opens the door. “Tommy?” he says, squinting into the sunlight. Behind him, his house is dim and the aircon is on. “Did I forget something?”

“No,” Tommy says. “I, uh. Can I come in?”

Tommy hasn’t done a lot of things in his life without a plan but he’s on his own here, freewheeling. Lovett follows him inside, starting to look more awake. 

“So, what,” he’s saying, “just couldn’t get enough of my charming personality? Needed to head back for another hit of witticisms and glory?”

Tommy is beginning to remember that the reason he usually has a plan is that he is predictably awful at winging it. He had reams and reams of what ifs running constantly in his head the entire time he worked the campaign, in the White House; no one could throw him a curve ball if he had catches ready for every possible aim. 

Lovett is better at metaphors than he is. Lovett is also starting to give him an odd look.

“Tommy?” He’s folded his arms, the way he does sometimes when he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react. “Traditionally this is the part where you interrupt.”

Tommy can’t manage grandeur right now, or nuance. All he has is this. “I want to kiss you.”

Lovett says, blankly, “What?”

“I want to kiss you,” Tommy repeats. It doesn’t sound any more real than it did before, like he’s imagining this whole thing, imagining the way Lovett’s expressive face is racing through microcosms of reaction. “If, uh, that’s something - if you - if you wanted that too.”

“Sure,” Lovett says. His voice comes out weird, like he’s not sure what tone he’s aiming for. He sounds like he might be waiting for the joke. “Sure you do, okay. Cool. Cool bit.”

“It’s not a bit, come on. ” Tommy can feel himself burning red, but he pushes through. There’s nothing he admires more about Lovett than his endless spill of bravery. Tommy can borrow some, for this. “I - have wanted to, for a while, I think. I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

“Oh, flattering,” Lovett says. He’s not looking Tommy in the eye, which would worry Tommy in anyone else, but Lovett has trouble making eye contact sometimes, when it means something to him. He’s still listening, intent on Tommy. Letting him speak.

Tommy doesn’t let himself rub the back of his neck the way he wants. “I didn’t,” he starts. “It’s not -” He doesn’t really know how to say it. He still doesn’t have the words, not even after years. It’s not like he thought it was wrong, or that he shouldn’t, but there’s a difference between looking at men and thinking, yes, and actually trusting himself to try. Tommy can trust a lot of things, but he is not always one of them. 

Lovett’s expression has changed, shifted to something more understanding. There’s no hint of pity, which Tommy didn’t realise he was dreading until right now, watching its absence. “Oh,” Lovett says. “Tommy, you could have said.”

Lucca squirms again in Tommy’s arms, agitated. He must be holding her too tight. He kisses her curly head and sets her down, watches her scamper off to find Pundit, curled up on the couch in the other room.

_You could have said._

“No,” Tommy says. “I couldn’t.”

Lovett kisses him. Without a puppy to hold, Tommy can react like he wants, can surge forwards, get his hands around Lovett’s upper arms, the starting swell of muscle there. Lovett makes a noise, barely anything, and presses into Tommy, opens his mouth.

Tommy wants - he wants to get Lovett against a wall and kiss him until neither of them can breathe. He wants to have done this earlier. He wants to make Lovett make that sound again, breathy, surprised and open.

Lovett pulls back, panting. “You - you weren’t kidding, huh? When you said -” 

Tommy shakes his head. He’s more aware of his own mouth than he thinks he’s ever been. “I really wasn’t.”

Lovett looks - god, he looks _good_. His cheeks are red, his eyes dark. He looks at Tommy, drops his gaze to Tommy’s mouth, and looks away again. “Uh,” he says, “did you want - again?”

“Yes,” says Tommy, fervent, and Lovett comes back into his space and kisses him again.

Could - could they have had this earlier, if Tommy had let himself realise what he wanted? This, with Lovett making a noise into Tommy’s mouth when Tommy gets his hands on Lovett’s sides, glories in the feel of it, Lovett under his palms. This, with Lovett up on tiptoes to get better access, finally pulling Tommy down by his shoulders, Lovett’s fingers digging in. This, Tommy groaning, following an urge and walking them clumsily back until Lovett’s against the wall - “Okay?” Tommy asks, and Lovett scrabbles to get him closer, says, hoarsely, “Really fucking okay.” - Lovett pressing all against him, his perfect compact body flush against Tommy’s. 

Tommy shifts and, fuck, that’s like a bolt of heat down his spine, that’s, that’s undeniable; Lovett’s dick, hard, pressing against Tommy’s thigh. Tommy can rub against him and make Lovett squirm. 

Lovett doesn’t - doesn’t stop, or ask if Tommy’s still good, which Tommy appreciates more than he can bear to think about. He just pauses, just for a second, and when Tommy chases after his mouth, Lovett kisses back hard. God, god, this is good, this is - Lovett, making small good sounds when Tommy fumbles his hands up under his t-shirt, touches skin. Lovett, pulling him closer.

Tommy dips his head, kisses down Lovett’s neck. He’s been thinking about this too, god, how could he not, Lovett’s throat working when he swallows, tips back his third diet coke of the day. Lovett’s stubbly now, and it makes Tommy’s lips feel used, sore. He likes it.

“Me specifically, or,” Lovett pants. It takes Tommy a second to catch up, brain foggy with the taste of Lovett’s skin.

“What?”

“You wanted to kiss me,” Lovett explains. His face is flushed, blotchy when Tommy looks up, but they’ve been making out. It doesn’t mean anything. “Me specifically or just, like, a man?”

That doesn’t make any more sense. “What?”

Lovett shrugs. His hands have stilled on Tommy’s shoulders. “A gay dude you already know,” he says. “Seems an easy, uh, trial run. First try? Batting average? What’s a good sports reference for this, Tommy, help me out here.”

Tommy has never felt less like thinking about sports. Is that what Lovett - what he thinks this is? It’s been nothing, minutes, and Tommy feels crazy about that idea, like he wants to keep biting a rebuttal into the soft skin of Lovett’s neck until it blooms up purple, until anyone that looked at him could read that Tommy wanted to do that to him, to _him_ and no one else.

“Lovett,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “Nothing about you is _easy_.”

“Hey,” Lovett protests, but he tilts his head so Tommy can dip back to his neck, nuzzle in, feel the pulse beating fast just under his mouth. “Plenty of things - _oh_ -” his voice cuts out, and Tommy feels a startling, fantastic, satisfaction, and does it again. 

Lovett sounds different when he speaks again, quieter. He’s got one hand on the back of Tommy’s neck, holding him where Tommy can’t see his face. Tommy waits him out. “You too,” Lovett says, like that. “I want - god, Tommy, I want you too.”

Tommy can feel his face heat up further still, the rush of blood. It feels somehow impossible that outside, people are going about their lives; that their dogs are in the other room and Favs and Emily just across the street. It feels like there’s nothing for Tommy to think about but this, Lovett’s cracked voice saying _I want_ , Lovett’s hands turning needy on Tommy’s back.

Lovett’s hips are shifting against him, helplessly forward. Tommy reaches for his ass - Lovett moans, properly, low and unmistakable - and hauls him in, feels Lovett’s dick twitch even through their pants.

“Yeah,” Tommy breathes, barely recognising his own voice. “Yeah, Lovett, come on, like that.”

Lovett rolls his hips, does it again, and Tommy holds him there, hard. Maybe, maybe it’ll bruise, maybe he’ll be able to see the marks of his own fingers on the pale skin of Lovett’s ass later. Maybe Lovett will want to show him, will tell Tommy to peel down his sweats and _look_.

Lovett’s breath is coming hard, ragged. “I’m,” he manages, “this is, uh, usually this is better, with me, I don’t usually -”

“Fuck usually,” Tommy says, and means it with all his heart. He doesn’t give a fuck if Lovett usually lasts longer or comes faster or does _anything_ ; right now, Lovett is hitching against Tommy’s thigh, clutching him closer, and Tommy just wants him to _come_. “Do it,” he says, and Lovett says, frantic, “Oh, _fuck_ ,” and shudders all over, rigid in Tommy’s arms.

_Jesus Christ, Jesus fucking Christ_ , Tommy thinks, and says, “Fuck, Lovett, that was - that was -” 

“Quick?” Lovett says, self-deprecating. He leans his forehead against Tommy’s shoulder, chest heaving. “Yeah.”

“Amazing,” Tommy says, and can’t do anything about how fucking sincere it comes out. He means it. Sue him.

Lovett laughs, still breathless. He sounds pleased. “Give me a minute and I’ll blow you.”

Tommy twitches full body, can’t help it. “Yeah,” he says. “God. Lovett, I - “

Lovett kisses him, sweeter than before. “Yeah,” he says, gentle, and Tommy gets it. He feels it too.

Tommy never let himself think about this part, about anything specific. He couldn’t have thought it and kept going. He couldn’t have imagined the reality of Lovett, warm in his arms, wanting him back. 

Maybe Lovett knows what Tommy needs, or maybe he needs the same thing, but either way he mercifully doesn’t tease, just sucks Tommy’s dick right away, thorough and unrelenting. Tommy’s head thunks back against the wall; Lovett’s hands tighten on his thighs, like it’s good. Like he’s pleased. 

“Can I,” Tommy starts, helplessly, no idea how to say it. “Do you like - can I -” and Lovett doesn’t pause, just reaches for one of Tommy’s hands and puts it on the back of his neck. “Oh, fuck,” Tommy manages, curling his hand, feeling Lovett’s curls on his fingers, the vulnerable nape of Lovett’s neck under his palm, “oh, god - Jon -” and Lovett makes a noise like a gunshot, needy, and Tommy comes in his mouth.

He wants to apologise for the lack of warning, but he can’t. He can’t do anything but feel it, wrung out. Lovett makes an amazing sound, encouraging, and squeezes his thigh again. It’s like Lovett’s saying, _I’m here _, and he really is, he really really is.__

__Tommy breathing hard and it takes him a second to be able to speak, to tuck himself back into his underwear with clumsy hands. Lovett wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, which should objectively be much grosser than Tommy is finding it. He can feel himself smiling, broad, and Lovett’s got his hands in the pockets of his sweats but he’s smiling too, careful, in the corners of his mouth._ _

__“So, uh,” Lovett says. His eyebrow is quirked familiarly, just the same as always, Tommy wants to touch him everywhere, make up for lost time. “You wanna get a drink?”_ _

__In the other room, Lucca barks happily, and it makes them both laugh. The hallway is full of early evening sunlight and Lovett wants Tommy too._ _

__Tommy reaches out, tugs Lovett, still laughing, back in. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I do.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Someone To You by BANNERS. a/n and thanks to follow after reveals!


End file.
